


crash and burn, young and loaded

by galaxyjun



Series: Buss It Verse [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: AU-typical violence, Alternate Universe - Regular (Music Video), Crime AU, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Partially Linear Narrative, Temporary Character Death, i fucking LOVE this verse oh my god, origin fic, ships are all relatively minor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 23:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16397228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxyjun/pseuds/galaxyjun
Summary: motley [mot-lee]adjective1. incongruously varied in appearance or character; disparate2. exhibiting great diversity of elements3. being of different colours combined*taeyong's got a crew, and he loves them to fucking pieces.title from "na na na" - my chemical romance





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> uploaded in two parts to keep my motivation high

like most horrible, awful, completely fucking stupid things, it starts with doyoung.

because johnny has a mini gun. he’s got a mini gun in their god damn fake office, and he’s tottering around with it, leaning heavily to one side, grinning wide and happy and free. standing on one of the tables donghyuck cheers him on, eyes bright and damn near manic, he’s almost drooling over the damn thing.

“ohhhhh my god you have to fire it.” he pleads, leaning out to reverently reach for it. he nearly kicks jungwoo’s coffee cup off the table, but jungwoo is entirely unbothered.

doyoung raises a hand. “hey, uh, as much as i love bullets and shit, i would prefer for you guys to uh, not, fire that in the office thanks.” he sounds completely irritated, a good act because he was the one who fucking left the anonymous and unnecessarily generous gift of a free mini gun on johnny’s desk that day. just to stir the pot, because doyoung is a fucking mad man.

johnny shakes his head mournfully. “gotta listen to d-man hyuck.” and donghyuck slumps down on the table.

“don’t call me that.” doyoung calls back.

“can we fire it off the roof? see how far the bullets go??” 

“i mean, the specs are all right here—“ mark says, holding up the information pamphlet that came with the fucking mini-gun, but johnny points it at him and revs it up, leaving mark scrambling for cover.

“DO IT” donghyuck shrieks gleefully over mark’s panicked yelling. two desks over, sicheng pours himself his third glass of wine for the day, silently passing the bottle over to jaehyun. yuta and taeil are nowhere to be found, most likely getting their own mini guns after they ran off in a jealous rage.

it’s jungwoo’s voice, gentle and dripping with honey sweet malice that makes johnny stop pulling the shit he’s pulling, when jungwoo purrs something about throats and organs and swiss army knives and a poor motherfucker who’s gonna get it.

taeyong has had his head in his hands for the past ten minutes. looking up doyoung, who’s grinning like it’s christmas morning, because god does he love to piss taeyong off. barely able to see around the pounding in his head, taeyong asks, desperately, “why did we start this shit show again?”

doyoung snorts, smirk sharp and gleeful. “you tell me.” he snarks, like he doesn’t regret it at all.

*

it all starts with the worst carjacking known to man, taeyong, and doyoung.

taeyong is broke, dirt poor, loan sharks on his ass and he needs money, an escape, something, anything. seoul creeps into his throat and winds around his lungs like a vice, and everyday spent there is a reminder of the borrowed time he’s running on, borrowed time that’s running out.

he doesn’t remember how he got to the highway, too drunk on fear and adrenaline and three grams of something illegal. he’s not sure how he gets the car to pull over. he’s not sure where he even gets the gun from, where he even gets his plan from, but he’s there and he’s climbing into the car and he’s pointing the gun at the driver and saying “get out of the fucking car.”

the driver is unimpressed. “seriously?” he demands. “i let you in your car and this is the thanks you give me?”

taeyong’s hands shake near comically, but not nearly as much as his voice does when he repeats that the driver better get out of the car before he fucking regrets it.

the driver snorts. “try me.” and then he’s flooring it, gunning it, taking off down the highway at far beyond legal speeds in the dead of night and taeyong is thrown back against the seats, grip slipping on the gun and fuck he was panicking from the start but he’s really losing it now, fumbling and cocking and going to shout another threat but too late his finger’s slipped—

the driver’s head snaps with the bullet, blood splattering the window, he slumps forwards as the life bleeds from his eyes and the bullet wound from his head. his foot doesn’t leave the gas and taeyong watches in white knuckled horror as the car veers left and left and left and left—

the barrier never stood a chance. the car goes plummeting to the ocean. and taeyong doesn’t have a thought in his god damn head when he hits the surface and dies on impact.

his eyes open. everything aches, hurts, bruises inevitably. rolling over, taeyong groans, blinking spots from his vision. rocks, wet, his mouth is salty, brain fuzzy. everything feels half a step behind, like he’s not quite fitting into the shell of his body.

something snaps into place, but not in a good way, in a way that makes taeyong freeze with fear, instinctively. when he looks up, he’s looking up the barrel of a gun. “wha—“ he croaks, tongue fat and heavy in his mouth.

“i’m just testing something.” a voice says, just as wrecked and ruined as his, but taeyong’s brains are splattered on the rocks before he gets the chance to use them to piece anything together.

when taeyong wakes up again, his head fucking aches, and he groans loudly. “did you fucking shoot me in the head?” he moans, pressing his temples as hard as he can.

“yeah.” comes the response. “and you fucking lived.”

it takes taeyong three blinks and four exhales to process that. and two more seconds to fully digest it. and when that time comes, he finds nothing in himself but complete and utter acceptance.

taeyong falls back on his ass, grinning easily up at the driver. “and i take it you didn’t die either?”

the driver hesitates, frowning. “you’re. taking this better than expected.” 

taeyong shrugs. “i mean hey. what else am i gonna do. but are you like, immortal too?”

the driver nods cautiously. 

“do you have a degree?”

“in literature.”

“do you have a job?”

“got fired today.”

“did you get that—“ taeyong points to the sinking car wreckage in the water. “legally?”

the driver doesn’t answer.

and with a grin that stretches from ear to ear, taeyong extends a hand and says, “nice to meet you mr driver, in lee taeyong, want to start a crime syndicate with me?”

and the driver barely hesitates for half a second before taking taeyong’s hand, smile wry and only the slightest bit wary, saying “my name’s doyoung and sure. fuck it.”

in the background, the car burns in the water, and taeyong thinks that he could find this normal one day.

*

when anyone not part of their seoul crew flies in, they throw a massive party. hell, sometimes they do it when mark comes back to korea, for no other excuse than to get drunk and do dumb things. then again, that’s all they seem to do nowadays.

but mark is very much in korea, has been for a couple months now, and taeyong’s been running a list of international associates in his head all damn day and still doesn’t know who they’re celebrating. even worse, his crew doesn’t fucking bother to tell him.

“it’s a surprise!!” donghyuck had said cheerfully, with a god damn bouquet of rocket launchers in hand. 

“will anyone die?” taeyong asks, in part out of curiosity but also out of genuine fear. the fear only grows when donghyuck stops, ponders, and then gives the most nonchalant shrug imaginable. 

“we’ll see!” he says brightly, then putters away, whistling a queen song purposefully out of key. taeyong’s left standing there, frozen in apprehension.

but when the time comes, when the champagne is popped and the confetti is thrown and everyone’s tipsy enough to create their own equilibrium of slumping into one another, drunk off their ass, it’s the best damn night of taeyong’s life. because the party starts off with a bang, with ten stumbling through the doors fresh off his flight but with the same burning light in his eyes that makes taeyong’s heart soar.

“darling,” ten whispers, prying the bottle from taeyong’s hands. “you suck at drinking.”

taeyong smiles up at him dopily. “still?” he whines, not upset at all.

ten laughs, petting taeyong’s hair. “you always will y’know.” he murmurs fondly. the world melts away, the cheering and screaming and whooping fade to the background and all that’s there are ten’s eyes, more beautiful than anything he could ever imagine.

“always.” taeyong echoes, and ten smiles.

*

taeyong learns a couple things about doyoung quickly. first, he’s the most lawful rule breaker that’s ever existed. no qualms about shanking someone in the gut, but will signal on an empty road. secondly, the first time he died was when he was whacked on the back of the head in an alley and woke up half an hour later in a sizeable pool of his own blood. and thirdly, arguably most importantly, he will fight taeyong on anything and everything.

“i still think that tyrant is a dumb code name.” he says matter-o’-factly as they pull into the gas station parking lot. his voice is deceptively calm, almost enough to hide the shaking of his hands.

“i mean, it’s better than bunny.” Taeyong mutters. “we’re gonna be laughed at doyoung, seriously, i’m gonna be like ‘hey bunny grab the cash’ and the hostage is gonna die laughing cause it’s a dumb fucking nickname and then we won’t have leverage against the cops!”

doyoung side eyes him. “i’m not some fucking edgelord like you are.” 

“tyrant makes sense! ty! that’s my fucking name doyoung—“ taeyong shouts, throwing his hands in the air. “yknow what, let’s call you goblin. you’re as ugly as one anyway.”

and taeyong knows that doyoung’s nervous when he doesn’t bother to fight, just slumps and sighs and says “sure. why not.”

taeyong grabs his wrist, squeezes once. “we’ll be okay.” he says as soothingly as he can. “it all goes south then we run and drive off a bridge, right?”

doyoung shoots him the smallest of grateful looks. more than anything he’s given taeyong in the few weeks prior, so taeyong nearly sheds a damn tear. “right.” doyoung says, still all nerves but not nearly as much panic as before. “we can die and come back. that’s a thing.”

“sure is!” taeyong says, smiling amicably. doyoung snorts, shaking his head.

“what fucking lives we lead.” he mutters, just the tad bit awed.

and then they go.

masks pulled over their heads, guns at the ready, bursting into the gas station and throwing the bag on the counter. “put the money in the bag.” taeyong growls, dropping his voice low, sharpening his gaze. the cashier freezes, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

doyoung shoots the light. the store is empty, no saviours in sight. “might want to hurry sir.” he singsongs, and jesus christ that’s terrifying but it does the job as the money goes into the bag, held by shaking hands. something gross and nasty writhes with glee as rating watches stack after stack get tossed into their little duffel bag. 

the cashier steps back from the counter, shaky hands in the air. “that’s all.” he breathes, tears beading at the corners of his eyes. “that’s all that’s there.”

and doyoung grabs the bag and taeyong shoots the phone and they fucking _book it_ out the store and taeyong revs the engine as soon as both the car doors are shot and they’re blasting down the road, adrenaline thrumming in their veins and doyoung tilts his head back and laughs and laughs and laughs—

and there’s a sickening _fwump,_ and a solid mass that goes up and over their vehicle and lands on the other side.

taeyong slams on the breaks. doyoung stares at him, eyes blown wide beneath the mask. “what the _fuck_ was that?” he breathes. doyoung stumbles out of the car without another word. and a few moments later, something’s thrown in the backseat of his car and doyoung gets back in the passenger’s sheet, jaw wound tight.

“drive.” he grits out.

“wha-“

“DRIVE!”

taeyong drives. there’s a scent, something metallic permeating the air. the mask does nothing to stop it, and taeyong finds himself gagging into the mask as he drives with no direction. “why’d you put the body in the back?” he spits.

“guilt.” doyoung sobs into his palms. his shoulders are shaking. they’re both running low on adrenaline, coasting too close to hysteria, and taeyong finds himself swallowing lumps.

“where are we going?”

“i don’t fucking know just _drive.”_ doyoung moans, and so taeyong does, drives and drives and drives as the songs on the radio slip by like sand until in the middle of the ad break when—

“fuck.” from the backseat. taeyong’s eyes flash to the rearview mirror and watch as a bloody figure props itself up, blinking blearily. “god, i _hate_ dying—“

the car veers with taeyong’s shout, and they all jerk to the left as he pulls over. doyoung’s gun is cocked and pointed behind the seat as he twists awkwardly to face the man behind them. “you get one minute.” doyoung growls. the man blinks, eyes crossing over the barrel of the gun, but he speaks anyways.

“my name is chittaphon leechaiyapornkul but just call me ten. i first died like six months ago back in thailand and i freaked out and booked it here and became part of the criminal underground, which i’m pretty sure you guys are breaking into considering the shitty weaponry and shittier masks. please don’t kill me again, it really hurts, so just drop me off here and i won’t breathe a word to anyone or just let me in your crew cause my crew just went tits up and i’m out of a job.”

all in one breath. taeyong looks at the man in his backseat. he’s covered in blood, thick and viscous turning dark clothes darker. there’s bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in a week. there’s a scar that cuts down the corner of his lip, a smattering of moles on one cheek, a single tooth missing and a black eye well on its way in. his eyes are calm, void of emotion. accepting, understanding, but no where near docile. there’s a hard glean of determination, he’ll roll with the punches and come out of it the champion, that’s the promise he’s making in the quirk of his lips and the glint of his teeth and the dull blaze in his eyes.

doyoung and taeyong don’t need to talk to make a decision. there’s not much of a decision to be made, as a two man crew that hot-wires shitty bikes to sell for cash, as a start up crew that assembled two weeks prior out of sheer desperation, as two kids with a power unknown and nothing but the desperate and unbearably human need to survive just another day. there’s no decision to be made, but taeyong looks back on that day as the turning point of his entire life.

cause he pulls away from the curb and doyoung takes off his mask and ten’s shoulders slump with relief as he collapses into the backseat and not another word is spoken as they drive and drive and drive.

*

shit goes sideways, sometimes.

because white collar only goes so far. because outsourcing for the dirty work is for pussies and idiots. because there’s a burning in their veins that can never quite be extinguished, only sated, and they’re slaves to blood and gasoline and explosions and cash torn straight from the vaults. so it’s never quite about the money, the profit. money’s just an added bonus, the feeling of being actually fucking _alive_ is what they’re in it for.

but they’re lazy. they cut corners, they skip steps, because at the end of the day even when they’re upside down in a box truck sinking into the hangang river with a flock of police choppers circling overhead, they make it home. they always have, they always will.

but there’s still the fear that they won’t.

taeyong doesn’t quite feel it so acutely anymore. he’s got that faith in his crew, in his family, that they’ll crawl their way back to the land of the living, tooth and fucking nail, if only to say that they deserve a bigger send off than what they got. but there’s still the heart stopping moment, just before that thirty minute mark hits, when you’re dripping blood and sweat and money into the dirt with your face buried into their neck because god fucking damn it they always come back but what _if—_

out of all of them, johnny and jaehyun feel it the hardest though.

they’re waiting it out in an alley, in some souped up old delivery van, and jaehyun has johnny’s body cradled in his arms. jaehyun’s shaking, trembling, just ever so slightly but still noticeablLY. johnny’s not moving, not breathing, he’s dead all good and proper dead, eyes glazed and unfocused and lips parted around his last words.

he was warning them to get out, because yeah they would come back even if the roof collapsed on them but it’s a real shitty situation to be in nonetheless, and he was calling it. “roof comes down in five, get your asses mo—“ and then a distant yell and a quick curse and a barrage of gunfire and a horrible choked noise and static and silence.

and taeyong didn’t even get the time to breathe before jaehyun was darting out from behind their cover and dashing up the stairs and gunning half of the police department down with a SMG in one hand, johnny slung over his shoulder in the other.

the truck is dead quiet, save for jaehyun’s shaky breathing and distant wailing of the sirens. a phone sits face up in taeyong’s lap, screen black, silent, unmoving. every so often taeil will whisper into their comms, assuring the other five of them across the city that they’re still safe, still waiting, no it hasn’t been half an hour yet, it’s okay, it’s all good, just some time—

taeyong drums a pattern into the metal of the van. it rings in the space, echoes in the emptiness, and he hates waiting games but this one is the worst of all, watching jaehyun whisper prayers to a god that he never believed in on the off chance that he would have mercy on their blackened bloodied souls and spare them from a pain that none of them dare to imagine. because they make it back every time, dig their way out from the pits of hell and come back grinning brighter and wider and sharper than before but what if it’s only by the grace of god, what if they’ve got a limit and they’ve just managed to hit it, what if, what if, what _if._

and then the worst moment hits, the absolute bastard of a time, when the phone lights up and buzzes a charm as the half hour mark hits. it’s like the death drop, that kun dragged him on when they visited lotte world when they were young and dumb and money was still crisp and fresh and new. it’s weightless and empty and everything is moving just a step too slow and time doesn’t matter and your breath fills your lungs endlessly expanding forever and ever as the static begins to build—

johnny sucks in a deep, wheezing, awful breath, curling up on his side and away from jaehyun. “son of a bitch.” he says, all breath, no sound. “fuck i hate that.”

jaehyun sighs, shuddering all the way through. “watch your six and maybe you won’t have to do it again.” he snorts, nudging johnny’s body with his foot. it’s slightly wet. no one comments on it.

taeyong turns the alarm off, stops the mournful american rock singer in the midst of his verse about fathers and bands and parades. he closes his eyes, feeling the vehicle beneath them rumble to life as sicheng pulls it out from the alley and into the street. he thanks someone, anyone, no one, that they got another chance. that they saw another day.

taeyong’s sat in the back of a moving truck, no windows around him at all, but he can feel the sunlight washing over him all the same.

*  
taeyong doesn’t know who the fuck murphy is, doesn’t know what the fuck his problem was, doesn’t know why he does what he does, but he hates him. hates him for being able to sum up his entire fucking existence in a simple phrase. “everything that can go wrong will go wrong.” fuck off. if murphy ever met taeyong he’d be astounded to meet the literal personification of his shitty law.

cause come on, _really,_ jewelry store robberies shouldn’t be so fucking hard with a three man team, especially with doyoung as ruthless and ten as precise as they are. they should be half decent, not bad, pretty fucking easy all things considered.

but no, shit hits the fan and in three minutes flat taeyong’s booking it down the street with a couple of necklaces in his pocket and a gun in his waistband and a mask over his face, split up from his team mates with a vague rendezvous point in mind. his heart pounding in his throat, blood roaring in his veins, adrenaline spiking it’s way through his very bones and electrifying the tips of his fingers. the thrill of the chase, of the victory, of the fucking fire that blazes through his system and burns him alive. and to this day, taeyong blames the overwhelming emotional rush on his simple mistake of not checking the first car he jumps in. 

what taeyong expects to do is crawl over the passenger’s seat, into the driver’s seat, hotwire it and be on his merry way. what he doesn’t expect is opening the car door, climbing inside, and startling a man into dropping his sandwich into his lap.

“ah fuck, my sandwich.” he says around a mouthful of bread. to his own credit, it only takes taeyong a couple of seconds to adjust, to pull the gun from the waistband of his pants, to have it cocked and pressed against the man’s temple.

“drive, and maybe you’ll make it home with your brains still in your fucking skull.” taeyong growls, voice deadly and hand still. he no longer trembles under the weight of a human life, no longer blanches at the thought of blood on his hands. they’re stained, steeped red through and through, and now it’s only a mild inconvenience that sometimes has him jerking awake in the dead of night. 

taeyong knows that he has the hands of a sinner, the eyes of a killer, yet the man is unfazed. “woah man.” he says slowly, putting his sandwich down. “take it easy.”

and for just a moment, taeyong hesitates. because death is the highest consequence he has against a man with not a trace of fear in his eyes. but then he realizes, death doesn’t faze him one bit either.

and so, very slowly, maintaining eye contact he takes the pistol, places it under his chin. “i said drive.” he says lowly.

the man freezes. “please, reconsider.” he whispers, like he’s soothing taeyong. “you don’t have to—“

taeyong places his finger on the trigger. the man swallows, nodding, asking “so where to?”

taeyong directs him as they drive. keeps his words clipped, his mask on, his gun pressed into his own stomach so not to stay obvious. he’s not scared of dying, not scared of the pain, but the overwhelming concern in the man’s eyes intrigues him. it’s not fear that he’s looking into, it’s worry and anxiety and warmth. it’s something that taeyong only sees at the crack of dawn in the corners of ten’s lips and the edges of doyoung’s eyes when they’re piss fucking drunk and splayed around their living room. it’s something awfully rare in the world they live in.

and in that moment, taeyong wishes that they knew each other. that he had the chance to properly meet this man, with long shaggy hair and something young and free in his eyes. meet this man at a bar or on the street or in a class and it sure fucking sucks that he can’t, that the only way he can know him is through a clipped sentences on the run from the police.

they get to the spot soon enough, outside the city, an empty field and an emptier warehouse they claimed for themselves. there are fresh tire marks, ten and doyoung must’ve made it here already. “stop here.” taeyong says. the man pulls over, side eyeing taeyong slightly. he’s worrying his lip between his teeth, and taeyong hates the overt concern in his eyes, hates that this man cares in a city full of people who could give less of a shit. 

“can you do one thing for me?” the man asks. he drums a pattern on the steering wheel.

taeyong blinks. “depending on what it is.”

“leave the gun here.” he says, sternly yet not without its gentleness. “come back to the city with me, grab a cup of coffee.”

taeyong gapes at him, open mouth. “the fuck are you talking about?” he blurts, take off guard. 

“i’d regret it if i just left you here.” the man’s talking like taeyong’s a wounded animal. he’s lifted his hands in the air, placating and gentle. “please come back with me?”

taeyong is so fucking confused. “no.” he says, simply, because like what the hell. “i’m getting out here.” 

and then he unbuckles his seatbelt and steps out of the car, pulling the gun away from his stomach and lifting it into the air to wave at the warehouse, let them know that he’s here. and it’s just another dumb fuck-up in taeyong’s long day of dumb fuck ups because he just _assumes_ that car guy will drive home, just assumes that he’s long gone. 

but no, apparently that man is _persistent,_ because as taeyong lifts his hand in the air a solid weight slams into his back, sending him sprawling into the dirt, and a hand much too large to possibly be human wraps around the gun in his hand, pulling it away from him.

taeyong thrashes, yanking and kicking and pulling, almost too fucking confused to even properly react, but he rolls over, looks the man in the eye. “what the FUCK are you doing?” he gasps.

“i can’t let you do this!” the man shouts back, and taeyong doesn’t even have enough time to decipher what the hell this man is even talking about before there’s pressure against his stomach and the snap of a gunshot. and it’s like the bullet in his stomach forces the gasp out of his throat, pushes the strength out of his hands, and taeyong watches almost in slow motion as the man’s eyes widen and he stumbles away.

there are footsteps thundering close by. the man is whispering over and over, “i didn’t mean to, i’m sorry, i didn’t _mean to—“_ but everything is turning to static in taeyong’s ears. he exhales, blood spilling over his lips, and god it’s hot and thick and absolutely disgusting. his breath is roaring in his ears, laboured and shaking and jesus, taeyong hates dying like this, it’s always the worst, unbearably slow and and agonizing and taeyong can feel ever bit of life bleed out of him, every second a century and every breath a whole new world of torment.

footsteps come closer, someone striding ahead from behind him but taeyong doesn’t get the chance to see beyond that because there’s a gun in between his eyes, ten behind the trigger, eyes pained because no one likes this part at all. but taeyong nods, just barely able to crack a bloodied smile before he watches ten’s finger tug on the trigger and then he feels nothing at all.

taeyong wakes up on the couch inside, head on ten’s lap, and for a moment he doesn’t even wanna get up, wants to lay here until the world burns itself apart. but he’s the unofficial leader, somehow, and he has to do the unofficial leader things, for some reason, and so he groans loudly and lets ten help him up into a sitting position.

“fuck, he really is alive.” someone whispers, a new voice. taeyong blinks the death gunk out of his eyes and squints over. the new guy isn’t as tall, but just as broad as the car man. it’s almost concerning how buff he looks, but it’s only exemplified by the rope wrapped around him, tying him to the chair. car man sits next to him, in an identical predicament.

taeyong sighs. “goblin, why’d you tie them up?” he asks, more for the reminder that these men, are not to be trusted. doyoung picks up on it easily, rolls his eyes, but continues without a complaint.

“that one—“ he says, pointing to car man. “was a fucking mess after he shot you. we had him tied up but he asked to call his friend to let him know that he was okay. unfortunately, his friend just. showed up.”

the friend shrugs. “i was worried for him.” he says matter of factly, not even bothering to explain how he found them. taeyong’s finding that he doesn’t care, more interested in one more piece of information.

“you guys aren’t that surprised that i came back.” he asks, leaning forwards. granted, taeyong basically just immediately accepted that he couldn’t die, but something’s telling him that there’s more to this. “and you”, he continues, pointing to car man. “you weren’t even scared of me.”

there’s a beat, just the smallest beat, where taeyong feels a little crazy, but then the strangers are locking eyes and there’s a silent discussion and taeyong knows that he’s right, that he’s got them.

“you’re immortal too.” ten breathes behind him.

“we didn’t know there was anyone else like us.” the friend breathes. “we’re students, well, we _were_ students, we died in that subway accident a while back but then we both came back and we didn’t have anything else cause we were assumed dead and our visas were void and we’ve just been pickpocketing since—“

“easy.” taeyong says, and oh, that’s sympathy, the pesky little bastard, running through his arteries and turning his heart warm. “how’s the pickpocketing going for you?”

“shit.” car man snorts. “absolute dumpster fire. i’m genuinely considering selling nudies to old men at this rate.”

ten stifles a laugh. “i like them.” he snickers. “can we keep them?” he asks, as if taeyong and doyoung would actually protest. 

regardless, the duo are shocked, eyes blown and mouths open almost comically. the friend laughs. “shit man.” he breathes shakily. “are you sure?”

taeyong grins. “i mean, we could use the help.” he pointedly looks at ten and doyoung. “and i’m quickly getting tired of these two.”

doyoung smacks the back of taeyong’s head. “now that we’re done with all the snark, let’s get you out of those ropes and get to introductions.” he says dryly but not without it’s warmth.

and the first thing that car man — _johnny,_ as taeyong soon comes to learn — is shake his hand. warmly, firmly, solid and present and real. “thank you.” he says, genuinely, and taeyong could never stop the smile that spreads across his face at the words. 

*  
one time, taeil had turned to taeyong, said “it’s nine am and i’m so drunk i can’t feel my fucking legs”, and then proceeded to hack into an atm and force a corrupt lawyer to donate several million to a charity for kids with cancer. 

and that’s basically every experience that taeyong has had with the man.

moon taeil is a god damn enigma. he’s like a cryptid except he’s _real._ donghyuck once wondered aloud if taeil was just a collective hallucination and taeyong is still thinking about that, even to this day.

he’s awkward but charming, bumbling but smooth. he’s the whole fucking package, and just a little more. he can drink johnny under the table and suplex jaehyun once in a while and is the _worst fucking driver known to man._

taeyong loves him to bits.

he has this weird habit of just sprouting random bits of advice, that’s completely irrelevant and incomprehensible. like old grandma sayings, except it’s just bullshit. the one incident that always comes to mind is the time that yuta had shrapnel lodged in his thigh and while they were all panicking trying to pull it out, taeil had just laughed and cheerfully said “well when the green beans grow…” and then had trailed off, gazing solemnly into the distance. 

taeil’s the friend that you always tell stories about. he’s the friend that you automatically think of to make a crowd laugh. taeil is the guy who _wants_ to make the crowd laugh, and his smile is never brighter than when people turn to him and ask “did you _really?”_ with awe and wonder and mirth in his eyes. he’s the definition of life of the party, salt of the earth, piece of shit standup guy that taeyong has laid down his life for and would do it again in a heartbeat.

taeyong can already tell that this is gonna be one of those stories, that he’s gonna tell this to mark when he’s back in town, that tail’s gonna bring this up when they’re piss drunk just to get them rolling around with laughter. taeyong’s already damn near shitting himself with laughter, doubled over and barely able to breathe around his tears. taeil has the biggest grin shit eating on his face, fingers flying across the keyboard, the glow of the screen flickering across his face. 

“he’s not gonna know what fucking hit him.” he mutters, and it sends taeyong into another fit of laughter. “taeyong will you let me into your poly fuck fest cause i might not have a boyfriend after this.”

taeyong wheezes. “oh you always have a place in our bed taeil.” he chokes out. “do it, fucking do it!” 

taeyong doesn’t even know what the fuck taeil’s doing, he has no grasp of coding or computers or technology whatsoever, but he doesn’t care. he knows that it’s gonna give johnny a headache, gonna give them their fair share of entertainment, gonna keep taeil’s smile bright and happy and absolutely wicked.

which is, in taeyong’s opinion, more than he could ever ask for.

 

*

taeil is the first one they actually, properly seek out. the first one that doesn’t end up with someone dead as a result of some absurd looney toon-esque series of blunders and fuck ups. 

they seek out taeil because they need to find some footing. they seek out taeil because corner stores can only give so much, because there’s a grand total of five of them on one street corner and fuck all else to do. because jaehyun’s got a knack for street racing that’s just begging to be invested in, but it’s a damn expensive hobby and they barely make enough to break even.

they call in taeil because they’ve got a motherfucking _heist._

taeyong doesn’t even meet taeil first. doyoung finds him initially, their now official diplomat. it’s a wild goose chase that has doyoung tearing his hair out for days on end, hunched over some papers covered in what appears to be world war two ciphers and a book on the mandela effect. but doyoung’s a hard worker, if not for the sole fact that working hard means that he gets to stop working quicker but either way, he wraps it up in no time at all.

“bullshit.” doyoung tells taeyong, with bags under his eyes so deep that taeyong could probably fall into them. “this was a complete bullshit fuckfest extravaganza, and i am _not_ going to be the one negotiating because if i do I’ll kill that son of a bitch on sight, i _swear.”_

doyoung ends up being the one to go find him, because ten’s too sharp around the edges and johnny’s too soft in the heart and jaehyun can smile and flirt and that’s really about it when it comes to diplomacy and even when taeyong tries to step forward and volunteer they push him back down, say that the leader never goes looking. which is still confusing, taeyong _never_ agreed to be leader, but either way, doyoung brings him back, surprisingly in one piece. a black eye, sure, but taeil seems understanding. “it was a bitch of a chase.” he placates, waving off their concerns. “also, i gave him permission.”

and thus the foundations of his reputation as ‘pretty fucking weird’ were set. because taeil was amicable and friendly and open but he laughed a little strained and sat a little off and there were these odds and ends that taeyong kept noticing, kept wanting to unravel, kept wanting to pull at and see the man lying underneath. it’s a bad habit that he’s developed, no thanks to his motley crew of dumbasses and their never-ending tragic backstories.

but taeil’s meant to be a one off. they have this unspoken rule amongst them, that people that weren’t like them couldn’t be part of them. no one wanted to live through a tragedy, through a heartbreak, through a nightmare, so spare themselves the trouble. taeil is supposed to be a one time hire, and maybe one of them will pick up some skills by proxy, hopefully natural talent will take over, and it’ll be smooth sailing from there.

the wrench in the plan ends up being johnny, and his god damn dick.

johnny is sweet. he’s kind and gentle and like a giant puppy-cat hybrid that taeyong kind of wants to smother and protect for all eternity. but he’s also a fucking _whore,_ and needs a good dicking every second week otherwise he gets all bitchy and crabby. doyoung finds all of them repulsive, taeyong and ten have somehow found something in each other’s touch that they just can’t share with johnny, and jaehyun is just a useless bottom, so johnny ends up having to settle for random hookups and bathroom blow jobs and mediocre motel sex. 

but then taeil enters the picture, and everything changes. 

“can we keep him.” johnny asks, no, _begs_ taeyong at breakfast. he had limped his way down the hall with the utmost determination and slammed his hands on the table, eyes wide and pleading. “can we _please_ keep him oh my god.”

jaehyun stumbles after him, bleary eyed, flopping down into his chair. “can y’all keep it down?” he groans. “i heard enough of johnny’s begging last night, jesus christ—“

“you’re just jealous that i got dicked down harder than you will ever get in your sad twunky life.”

jaehyun picks up the bread knife, pointing it at johnny with a glare. “you take that back you son of a bitch.”

doyoung pours a shot of espresso into his lukewarm redbull. “you do realize that he’s a one time hire.” he says sternly. “and also that you were meant to learn hacking from him, not become intimately acquainted with his penis.”

“i am best fucking friends with his schlong.” johnny insisted. “we have an unbreakable bond and you can not come between us.” 

taeil sits down next to johnny, pressing a kiss to his cheek. he looks at johnny like he’s absolutely smitten, with literal hearts in his eyes. “so you just wanted in my pants baby?” he pouts, smiling easy, the easiest he’s looked since taeyong met him.

and taeyong doesn’t really hear anything after that, just focuses on his food, but he can’t stop thinking about johnny’s smile and taeil’s laughter and how he fit so seamlessly and perfectly into their crew. he was perfect fit, able to make doyoung burst into fits of laughter, able to make ten smile from ear to ear, able to make johnny relax and stop _worrying_ about them all the damn time. he fit. and taeyong didn’t want to say goodbye.

but taeil doesn’t leave. even after their heist is pulled off (so fucking smoothly, without a hitch, like a dream, they get so much fucking money, jaehyun makes it rain all over them as they get hammered in their apartment and fall asleep in one big pile) they don’t tell him to go. and taeil just. doesn’t. he stays. he still puts his feet on taeyong’s lap during movie night and sings with doyoung as they wash up and is carried around on johnny and jaehyun’s shoulders for shits and giggles.

and so they run another heist. and another. and a couple more. and then they’ve got a system down pat, jaehyun in the car and taeyong barking orders, johnny running bags and taeil on the roof with his laptop watching doyoung and ten press guns to people’s heads and shoot rounds into lights. they have it down to an art, to a science, and when ten gets a bullet to the neck and wakes up thirty minutes later, taeil shrugs it off. “figured.” he said, to the questioning looks. “normal people would’ve never made it this far.”

and taeil tells them that two years ago he stepped into a noose and walked it off like nothing ever happened, and then he’s theirs, just like before.

he’s the one who names them, brands them, gives the people something to whisper on the streets with awe and fear, reverence and hatred. he leaves three numbers, ‘127’, in the system of every system he cracks. their calling card, their signal. _theirs._

and there’s nothing but pride and glee in his voice when he screams with delight as johnny and ten spray the side of the building in neon green, three numbers, stark and bold. a taunt, an invitation, a fruitless chase and a wild adventure, everything that taeyong can find in the edges of taeil’s smile.


	2. Chapter 2

it takes them three days to find mark.

three days of hearing donghyuck cry when he thought he was alone. three days of watching taeil, crouched over his laptop, eyes clouded with exhaustion and fear and anger. three days of people leaving at all hours, scouring the streets and searching the skies, coming back with bloodied clothes and not a single answer. three days of calls from ten and yukhei and kun and everyone, having to tell them that no, not yet, they’re getting there, they’re close. 

and one evening taeil breathes, just barely audible, “got it.” and they’re out the door in seconds.

taeyong lets his world fade away. doesn’t feel the bite of the cold air on his face as he bursts out from the car, doesn’t hear the ringing of explosions as his crew tears the place apart. he moves with robotic precision, ducking behind cover and blowing someone’s head off and kicking down the door, clearing each room in the warehouse one by one by one.

mark’s in the last room. hung from the ceiling by his wrists, clothes torn and ragged and stained with blood. his leg is bent wrong, bruises litter his skin, and his shallow breathing is sharp and deafening in taeyong’s ears. 

mark raises his head. one of his eyes is swollen and black, his lip is split and his nose is crooked. he’s grinning, wide and wicked. “took you long enough.” he slurs, blood bubbling over his lips.

“you look like shit mark.” yuta says drily, stepping forwards with a knife.

mark gasps, offended. “how _dare_ you.” he breathes, letting johnny hold him. “tortured is a great look on me!”

yuta cuts the ropes, releasing mark, causing him to fall limply into johnny’s arms. mark lets out this little, tiny, pained noise and taeyong has to close his eyes and breathe through his nose and count to ten before the red clears from his vision.

“what the fuck are you so buff for johnald.” mark mumbles into johnny’s shoulder.

“these gains? all from carrying your fat ass around.” johnny snips back, but it’s hushed and gentle. the gunfire has long stopped, the warehouse filled with nothing but bullet holes and dead bodies. donghyuck darts into the room, reaching up, pressing his hand into mark’s cheek. they’re talking hushed and soothing, barely disturbing the air with their words spoken so quiet they barely make a sound.

taeyong leads the pack, his pack, outside, at the front of the formation, with his chin held high. out the doors, into the streets. people are there, in crowds and droves and they turn and look, stare at the men soaked in blood and blaze and fury, at the family woven together by something thicker than blood. no cops are called, no words are said, they look on in fear and awe and reverence and hatred. because they are the kings of this city and all should know better than to fuck with them.

mark’s laid gently in the back of the car, his head on taeyong’s lap. sicheng pulls away from the curb gently, and taeyong runs his hand through mark’s hair, matted with sweat and blood.

“hyung.” mark murmurs, rolling over, looking up at him. “hyung, hey.”

“what is it minhyung?” taeyong breathes. the car hums with life, energy, and it rocks them like a boat, like a cradle, and taeyong feels safe here.  
“i’m okay.” he says, voice light but words heavy. taeyong’s throat closes up as he looks down into mark’s eyes, drooping and tired but firm and unwavering. “i’m okay.”

taeyong opens his mouth. closes it. swallows all the words he knows that mark knows by heart and says instead “glad to hear it kiddo.”

and when mark smiles back up at him, lord is it beautiful, and taeyong can’t help but smile back.

*

at some point, they go from a two bedroom apartment to an office building as their base of operations. it takes out a chunk of their money, but it doubles as a home for them all and it’s a good enough front as any, so they stick with it.

it’s a little chaotic, having one shower and six floors and mattresses between cubicles and people brushing their teeth by the water cooler. but it’s as good a house as any, made home by johnny’s shirt strewn over the back of the chair and taeil’s laptop left on the floor and the laughter that fills the empty space and climbs the walls and into the vents. it’s home. it’s theirs.

so when something goes thump in the middle of the night, they’re on their feet in seconds. grabbing guns and bats and crowding the elevator doors to the top floor, training their gun on the door, holding their breath. johnny’s the closest, a pistol held above his head, and he looks at them, mouthing _’three, two, one’_ before the doors slide open and the bell dings.

and they expect a police ambush. a rival gang. a justice doing citizen who got too curious for their own good. but they don’t expect a kid, bloodied and barely breathing, slumping through the doors and collapsing on the ground. they don’t expect a kid, barely clinging to life, hands shaky around the bullet wound in his gut, blood staining the dirty too-big jacket that hangs off his frame. they don’t expect a kid, on death’s door but with a fire in his eyes, grabbing at jaehyun’s hands and choking out “help me” around the blood in his mouth. they don’t expect a kid. they don’t expect him to die.

but somehow, they all expect the part where he comes back to life.

it still comes as a shock when the kid jerks alive in jaehyun’s arms, sucking in a lungful of air and shooting up. jaehyun’s arms are immediately soothing, placating, running up and down the kid’s sides, his back, his arms. “you’re okay.” he soothes, almost too gentle to be jaehyun. “you’re okay kid.”

it takes the kid a couple moments to calm down, to properly work the air in his lungs. he sucks in breaths, trembling all over, white knuckles around the fabric of jaehyun’s shirt. “okay.” he says, and his voice is high and young and unbroken. “okay.” he repeats, and he’s too sure for someone so painfully young.

“kid, are you good?” johnny asks, hovering anxiously. his eyes are still red, cheeks still wet, he had cried from the moment they saw the body until the kid had awoken. 

the kid nods. “yeah. yeah…” he breathes. he’s shaking all over. “i’m good.” he pulls himself from jaehyun’s arms, albeit reluctantly, but he stands on trembling legs and bows to all of them.

“my name is mark lee.” he says. “i’m thirteen years old, and the sole heir of the lee clan in north america. my father was killed three months ago. i was supposed to die in the assassination but… well. i didn’t.” his lip trembles, he balls his hands into fists and squeezes them. “i escaped to korea. i heard rumours about a crew here. a crew of immortals, a crew that didn’t die. my bodyguards were killed, i have nowhere else to turn.”

taeyong barely hears a word he says. just looks at this kid, lanky and small, barely a hundred pounds soaking and _fuck_ is he soaking, clothes stained with blood. he’s young and scared shitless and rough around the edges but there’s a sweetness in his eyes that this trouble hasn’t quite taken away, and taeyong doesn’t even look to the rest of his crew when he says “we’ll help you, don’t worry, we can help.”

he doesn’t need to look, because he knows that they stand with him either way.

it takes them a while to prepare. there’s a couple smaller heists they need to pull to get the cash to pull this off. they have people to hire, weapons to buy, plans to make. taeyong ends up calling in a favour from an older gang he just so happened to end up in the good graces of, and landing them with connections on the inside of the political vacuum of the north american underground.

it leaves them ragged, running on fumes, eyes deep with bags and bones weary with exhaustion. taeyong finds one of them asleep on their desks more nights than he’d like, and he takes to keeping a blanket in his desk drawer, just in case.

“fuck.” ten says one morning, eyes bleary with sleep, letting taeyong stitch up a cut on his thigh. “this kid better be telling the truth.” he says it without thought, without any meaning, but taeyong’s notes the blur of movement around the corner all the same.

that’s all the kid, allows himself to be. a blur, a shadow. never lingering for too long, avoiding all of them whenever he can. taeyong finds traces of him around the office sometimes, an empty cup of ramen or a pillow and blanket left in a mess on the floor. he doesn’t know where mark manages to disappear to, but his heart _aches_ upon the sight. 

doyoung corners taeyong after a meeting one day. “talk to the kid.” he says, voice heavy. his eyes are bloodshot, his grip is firm. “he needs someone.”

taeyong thinks about a car sinking into the water, still aflame. about bloodstained hands. about splattered brains against a window. about rocks digging into his back. about fear, anxiety, _loneliness._ about lungs clearing and vision brightening with a handshake.

“yeah, okay.” he says, thinking about becoming whole once again.

and taeyong finds mark. it takes him a while, a couple days of prowling around, but it’s at the crack of dawn in the door to the office and grabbing the kid by the wrist and scaring him out of his wits.

“jesus fuck—“ mark gasps, thrashing in place. he stills when he notices taeyong, eyes turning towards the floor.  
taeyong snorts. “did i scare you?” he teases lightly. mark shrugs, noncommittal. taeyong tugs him towards the elevator, smiling when mark looks up at him with his big round eyes. “come on.” he coaxes gently, and pulls mark after him.

they’re silent on the ride up, quieter walking through the floor. jaehyun’s fallen asleep on the floor, still clad in bloodstained clothes, soaking the floor beneath him. taeyong puts a finger to his lips, smiling gently, but mark barely looks at him, staring holes through the floor. and so when taeyong drags them both into the family bathroom, he pulls his hand away, pushing back his hair and sighing.

“mark…” he starts, suddenly unsure of what to say.

“i’m sorry.” mark blurts, bowing low. taeyong blinks, confused. “i’m so sorry for all the trouble i’ve caused, and for all that you’re doing for me.”

and god taeyong aches for this kid, feels the pity bone deep, feels the empathy even deeper, because he’s young and scared and hurting and he’s just so fucking alone in this world where the death of a child is just a dirtier form of politics and the immortality of man is a get rich quick gimmick when robbing a bank. taeyong looks at this kid, thirteen years old and the sole heir to a criminal empire. thirteen years old and instigator of what’s looking to be all out war. thirteen years old and turning to a group of fucked up adults, some twisted fucking mutants, abominations of god, and reaching out to them because _they’re_ the group that he can connect with. because they’re the only people that he’s got. 

so taeyong does what he does best. he feels. he steps forwards and pulls mark upright and then into his arms. tucking his head into his neck and burying his nose in his hair. feels the kid go stiff, then limp, then struggle away, half-heartedly, reluctantly. “taeyong-ssi, i—“ he mumbles.

“you’re not alone.” taeyong blurts. “please don’t think of this as, as some kinda gain for us. please don’t think that this is all the time you’ve got. you’re one of us mark, and we’re not the kindest or the best or even the people you should be around but you’ve got us if you need us mark. we’ve got you.”

and then it’s silent. and then mark’s trembling. and then there’s the smallest little whimper, echoing off the tile, and then mark crumples into taeyong, and dear fucking god he’s so small in his arms. he’s shaking like a leaf in the wind, sobs wracking his body with so much pain taeyong feels it in his stomach. “thank you.” he weeps, voice thick, smearing snot and tears into taeyong’s shirt. “i don’t— just—“

“mark.” taeyong says idly. “it’s okay.”

and it only makes him sob louder.

and from then on he opens up. hangs around more, talks a little louder, smiles a little more. calls taeyong hyung for the first time and damn near reduces him to tears. jaehyun makes him laugh so hard he trips and falls and taeyong can see in everyone’s eyes that they’re keeping this kid, no questions about it.

taeyong doesn’t even remember the event in the end. he knows he dies twice during the operation, knows that the firefight is televised across the country. knows that in the end mark makes a statement that echoes through the streets of america long after. knows that 127 has a name, has a face and it’s lee taeyong, leader of south korea’s most influential gang worldwide, is now the head of the lee syndicate, is now one of the richest men on the planet. he knows that it opens new doors, new horizons, new things that he never could have dreamed of a few months ago with veins coursing with drugs and a back full of debt.

but taeyong likes to remember the flight home, with mark sat next to him, curled into ten on his other side. fast asleep, hair mussed and a bandage slapped beneath his eye. snoring softly as ten gently played with his hair. ten had made eye contact with taeyong over mark’s head, and had smiled, fonder than he could ever imagine, and taeyong felt right at home there, flying high above the clouds.

*   
sicheng’s korean only grows as time passes, taeyong notes with pride, watching sicheng viciously curse out jaehyun.

it’s all in good fun, at least taeyong hopes, but he can’t bring himself to care at the moment, what with a lap full of sleepy jet lagged boyfriend and killer broken ankle that has rendered him helpless on the couch. it’s the only thing stopping them from going out and robbing the fourteen atms around the city like they originally planned, the whole reason kun flew in. it was a job they had been awaiting for months, halted only by taeyong’s clumsy ass tripping over a spare butterfly knife and falling down the stairs.

technically, they could just. shoot taeyong in the head and wait the half hour and he’ll be up again, basically good as new. but none of them had any particular want or desire to do the job. it was more routine, another assertion of authority, but their very name has people pissing their pants and running for the hills. what more could they want? what more could they _need?_

either way, taeyong’s not sure who suggested it, but there’s four of them on the floor playing uno. taeil and johnny have fucked off somewhere to have glorious bed breaking sex, or to get new tattoos, or to just watch bad movies and get wasted. taeyong isn’t quite sure what they do, but he’s sure that they have fun. doyoung and the others have left to get drinks, and taeyong’s here, kun in his lap, watching his family nearly kill each other over a deck of cards.

sicheng’s swear-filled tirade has slowed to a series of disgruntled mutterings as he organizes his cards, eyes filled with heart felt rage. jaehyun, on the other hand, looks positively delighted, holding his three cards with no small amount of glee. jungwoo’s smile is ominous, as he currently holds a hand of approximately twenty three cards. he hasn’t played a card in six turns. he’s only drawn more cards. he’s started to call it his weapon of mass destruction. looking at him, taeyong only knows fear. on the other hand, donghyuck just looks happy to be there, finally allowed to stay up and hang out after ten o’clock. 

he plays a green six. “jungwoo-hyung, your turn!” he chirps excitedly. jungwoo’s eyes glint.

“oh no.” kun whispers. “oh jesus, here comes the end of the world. hide your children, because god is about bring hellfire _down_ upon this motherfucker.” he doesn’t sound worried at all, in fact, he sounds positively delighted.

and thus, with a glimmer in his eyes only reminiscent of a rain of hellfire, jungkook places down a green zero. everyone passes their hands right. landing jungwoo’s hand right into—

“slut.” sicheng hisses, eyes widening. “jungwoo you two-faced slimy _whore.”_

“the weapon of mass destruction has been launched!” jungwoo cheerfully announces, stacking his cards neatly and passing his absolute monolith of a hand to sicheng. donghyuck _shrieks_ with laughter, falling onto his side and crying into the ground. sicheng stares ruefully at jungwoo, eyes alit with fury.

“man sicheng.” jaehyun wheezes. “get fucked.”

and sickens yells with rage and tackles jaehyun to the ground, sending cards flying everywhere, chaos brought upon their apartment. but taeyong just watches and laughs, one hand carding through kun’s hair, because as much as he would hate to admit it, sicheng’s smiling, and he’s having a great fucking time.

but they spare him the shame, and no one breathes a word of it.

*

one thing that tends to come with the sudden reentrance of the heir to one of the most powerful criminal empires in the world is assassins. a frankly _ridiculous_ amount of assassins.

they’re mostly useless, because, well, none of them can _die,_ but the first time that taeyong wakes in the middle of the night to find ten with a bullet in his throat, it comes as quite the surprise. 

mark is eternally apologetic, as always, but they’re able to handle it. they would’ve had to handle it eventually anyways. mark is a catalyst for an overwhelming amount of power suddenly deposited into their hands, power they never could have imagined. 127 is no longer a mid-tier gang that does a few hits to major banks every few months, they’re a international criminal organization with major ties in thailand and north america. they’re not just big. they’re on people’s radars. they’re expected to grow bigger.

the assassinations are a wake up call, not because they’re in danger, because really, they’re not. no, they’re a reminder to taeyong that they’ve still got a _ton_ of work to do. the problem is that taeyong has no idea how to get any of this work done.

america was easy. america was mark. america brings them a steady flow of money and a little bit of unrest that mark and johnny fly out to deal with every few months. korea is down pat. taeyong halts conversations when he walks into bars, jaehyun gets thunderous roars when he drives into the circuit. korea has 127 branded deep into its skin, almost impossible to forget. ten’s been working on thailand, flying back and forth and setting up relations and falling asleep standing when taeyong hugs him at the door. but they need to get bigger. get stronger.

part of the reason why getting big is so hard is cause of those fucking assassinations. an assassin means a leak and a leak means a wild goose chase and a wild goose chase inevitably means taeil and doyoung, two figures of utmost importance when it comes to reconnaissance and diplomacy, when it comes time to build some bridges. and they’re almost consistently unavailable because someone almost always wakes up with a gash in their throat.

they’ve at least analyzed and determined where the pressure is coming from. a large chinese syndicate. much larger than any of them were expecting. they’ve got presence, power, and allegedly, they instigated the uprising that killed mark’s father. 

mark recognizes their name in seconds. “they wanted to expand their territory.” he explains, teeth grit. “my dad wanted to maintain friendly relations. i can’t think of anyone else who could’ve done it.”

“so they’re trying to do it again?” johnny asks. he’s got bruises under his eyes, unable to fall back asleep after waking up in a pool of taeil’s blood.

mark nods. “it’s the only reason i can think of.” he says. “the problem is, they don’t wanna take you out, i don’t think. they probably want to intimidate us into withdrawing from america. killing taeyong-hyung would open a vacuum in korea they can’t afford to fill.”

there’s a beat, where everyone in the room takes a moment to try and solve their seemingly unsolvable problem.

jaehyun raises a hand. “i mean, we don’t die. so, like, can’t we just let them keep killing us?”

taeil shakes his head. “we’ve already had our fair share of murders. if we keep coming back, they’ll get suspicious. and they’ll redouble their efforts. that’s even more of a hindrance to our operations.”

doyoung clears his throat. “also, like, we don’t know how much of… _this_ we’ve got.” there’s a bit of a heavier silence after that statement, the weight of mortality unexpected and unbearably heavy upon shoulders not used to that burden.

taeyong sees them falter, and does his best to shrug off the weight. “we’ve got to corner them.” he says, more confidently than he thought he could say. eyes around the conference table flit to him, and for some reason, in their gaze, he’s able to believe what he’s saying. “we’ve got to get the next assassin, pin him down, and stop him from going back. we kill them one by one, and maybe, _hopefully_ they’ll back off.”

it’s not a plan. it’s not even a coherent thought. it’s a crazed idea, thrown into the wind, but his crew takes it and accepts it with confidence and trust and taeyong both loves and hates them for their unwavering loyalty.

they put the plan into action that night. sleep in the breakroom, one person on guard at all times. mark sandwiched between two of them, partially as an excuse to cuddle the boy, mostly as a means to keep him safe. rotate on the hour. don’t leave the office. travel in packs, pairs at minimum. stay vigilant. stay safe.

it’s almost a week into their plan when it happens. in the dead of night, just after taeyong has dozed off and jaehyun has taken the next shift, when there’s a flurry of movement and noise and taeyong is jerking awake, fumbling the gun underneath his pillow. someone fumbles the lights and they flicker on, blinding and glaring. taeyong squints around the blur and focuses on an unknown face, full lips and soft eyes, training his gun between the temples.

the intruder pulls the trigger before he does, and plants a bullet into the roof of his own mouth. his body falls limp to the floor, and jaehyun chokes and stumbles back, covered in blood.

“fuck.” doyoung breathes, one hand over mark’s eyes. “what the _fuck?”_

“no hesitation.” ten says. taeyong turns to him and finds ten’s eyes, wide and understanding. “not one bit of hesitation.”

there’s a beat. “timer’s been started.” taeil says grimly.

they wait the thirty minutes. and on the fucking dot the intruder’s eyes open, hazy with confusion before they’re bright and alert. he jerks in place, writhing against his bonds.

“don’t bother.” ten says in mandarin. he sounds it out slowly, not quite used to the language yet. he had just been picking it up when this mess started. taeyong’s able to follow along somewhat — he had been helping ten pick up mandarin initially.

the intruder spits. “fuck you.” he snarls in accented korean. “suck my dick.”

johnny snorts. “man relatable.” he sighs, whatever that means.

ten frowns. “that’s not nice.” he says. “we’re just trying to help you.”

“how.” the intruder spits. he’s putting up quite the fight, but there’s a reluctance in his actions. a sense of fear in the edges of his snarl. 

“ten.” taeyong blurts, a hand coming out to rest against his boyfriend’s back. “dial it back.” he murmurs. ten glances at him, swallows, nods.

and ten starts to talk in mandarin from there. taeyong doesn’t know the exact details of what it is, but he knows the gist. they’re immortal. the intruder is too. this is a perpetual cycle that can’t be broken. and there are only two options going forwards. either the intruder goes back to his employers and reports it as a failure, or he stays. he stays and joins their crew, because as far as they know there aren’t that many like them, and they’ve got to stick together and honestly, what else does he have to lose?

but as soon as ten makes the offer, taeyong can tell that there is a lot to lose. his face closes off, his mouth becomes pinched, his eyes fill with agony and taeyong has this small moment of _oh, there’s family involved, isn’t there._

“hey.” taeyong says, putting his bare minimum mandarin to the rest. he swallows, breathes out, and continues. “we will do our best to keep safe anyone you want. we will keep safe the people you need.” he says, or at least he tries to say. he sounds it out, slowly and carefully, keeping eye contact, trying to communicate sincerity across an impossibly large language barrier and mountains of mistrust, misfortune, pain. 

the intruder maintains eye contact. there’s something cracking, crumbling, so overwhelmingly vulnerable. taeyong’s suddenly struck by how young this kid is, how young all of them are. there’s this overwhelming moment of self pity, agony, mourning, grief for a youth long gone. but the intruder’s gaze shatters for the briefest of moments, before it hardens again, with more steel and conviction. something more genuine built in.

“two people.” he says in korean. “my brothers.” 

taeyong nods. “they’ll be taken care of.” he says, not quite knowing how it will be done. “my name is taeyong.” he continues, and johnny and jaehyun step forwards, cutting the bonds off of the man. 

“sicheng.” the intruder says, sitting up, rubbing his wrist. 

later, this becomes the tipping point for their expansion into china. sicheng takes mark back as a false prisoner, they infiltrate the rival syndicate, bring it down from the inside out. later, they establish a new leader, kun, a man whose eyes sparkle with mirth and cunning when he brings taeyong into his embrace. a man who fits into the spaces between ten and taeyong like he was always meant to be. later, sicheng introduces them to yukhei, a european operative, and his own web of connections overseas. later, 127 and vision form relations damn near untouchable. later, they’ll rise in ranks once again.

but at this moment, sicheng extends a hand to shake, and taeyong takes it. in this moment, sicheng reaches for safety, and taeyong tethers him.

in this moment, sicheng joins the crew, and that’s really the only thing that matters.

*

doyoung works the guy for about half an hour, pressing a knife to his neck, snarling threats in his ear. he doesn’t budge, not a single inch. it’s almost admirable, if it weren’t so fucking frustrating. doyoung leaves the room, kicking the chair, cursing under his breath. the man in the chair stares at the two way mirror, smile small, horrifically smug. 

“fuck.” doyoung mutters, running a hand through his sweat slick hair. “this guy is pissing me off.”

“what doesn’t piss you off?” yuta asks around a mouthful of chips. he had whacked around the guy in the room for like fifteen minutes before calling it quits. taeyong has just been here for watching the process. he gets too squeamish when it comes to actual torture. 

doyoung raises the knife threateningly at yuta, who barely even blinks. he sighs, lowering it, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “can’t we just kill the bastard?” he whines.

taeyong sighs. “maybe. but then that means we’ve got ten times the damage control to do.”

doyoung pouts, effect slightly ruined by his blood stained shirt. “we’re not getting anything out of him.” he huffs, collapsing into a free chair. “we’re going to be here forever at this rate.”

and with impeccable timing, the door behind them swings open. “did you guys start without me?” jungwoo says with the utmost offense. he’s in a simple cotton blue dress that hangs on his shoulders, cinched around his waist, covered with a neat white apron. he’s wearing one of his long brown wigs, and his makeup is light and elegant, making him look innocent and demure. he strides in with complete confidence on heels with just the slightest bit of height. he looks gentle, sweet, pure.

yuta whistles. “dude, i’d fuck you.” he says, then shakes his head. “no, i’d let you fuck me.”

jungwoo places a hand over his chest. “awe babe.” he simpers. taeyong is struck with the sudden urge to give everything he owns to jungwoo. he doesn’t, of course, he’s been training himself to resist jungwoo’s wiles for years now, but it’s still just as unbelievable how _terrifying_ jungwoo is when he slips into interrogation mode.

doyoung stands and opens the door for jungwoo with a sweep of his hand. “the floor is yours, madame.”

jungwoo curtseys neatly, then walks inside.

“ten bucks says he’s gonna suck his dick.” taeyong mutters.

“twenty that she uses teeth.” yuta shoots back. doyoung snorts.

inside, jungwoo moves to the rolling cart in the corner of the room. he pulls out the medical supplies, gauze, rubbing alcohol, and hurries back over to the man. he’s tottering slightly on his heels, eyes wide and innocent. none of them can quite hear what he’s saying, but it’s something urgent and sweet, soothing and gentle. his hands tremble ever so slightly as he dabs at the cuts that doyoung’s left behind. the man in the chair looks amused, charmed, almost slightly taken.

doyoung huffs. “he’s got him.” he mumbles. “hook line and sinker.”

and jungwoo could pull the knife out and go for the throat. could start with the threats, so carefully researched and painstakingly woven. he could lay into the man, and lay him bare in an instant. jungwoo could take him down, right then and there.

but they all know that they’ve got at least a couple more hours to go. because jungwoo hooks them right away, the easiest part of all. jungwoo has a tongue that drips honey and fangs that seeps venom. but jungwoo is patient. jungwoo is careful. jungwoo plays the long game. 

and by the end of the night, jungwoo will get the information they need. but not before he strips him down, layer by layer. not before he breaks him apart, piece by piece. not before he’s broken him, all the way through. not before he’s had his fun.

taeyong closes his eyes. “wake me up in an hour.” he says. they’ve got some time.

*

taeyong goes to europe once, and decides never again in his life.

it’s beautiful, sure. sprawling cities, gorgeous architecture, a million sights and things to see and do. ten enjoys it, that’s for sure, and kun seems to like it too. he goes the one time for both of them, to see their smiles as they hang off of his arm and to kiss them in expensive hotel rooms and to drink expensive alcohol in foreign cars. he goes with them to spoil them.

but by the end of the trip, he’s decided that maybe he’s had enough europe for a lifetime.

it’s supposed to be a three month venture. a break coupled with a inquisition. yukhei and yangyang have been working the continent for months, and they’ve set up all the meetings taeyong could handle. it’s just a matter of actually going there and doing it. 

and so they go there, and they do it. the first month is absolutely lovely. they spend their time in england and france, sightseeing and networking. ten kisses kun at the foot of the big ben and taeyong sets it as his wallpaper, never to change it ever again. it’s fantastic, amazing. an absolute dream.

but fucking murphy’s law strikes again.

about a month into the trip, taeyong gets kidnapped. goes to bed next to his loving boyfriends, wakes up tied to a chair in a warehouse. his mouth is dry, his muscles are stiff, his boyfriends are nowhere to be found and taeyong has no idea where he is.

the warehouse is massive, a ceiling that curves upwards out of sight, dozens of boxes stacked on shelves in the slightest bit of disarray in a language taeyong doesn’t know. there’s a pair of spotlights turned towards them and they burn his eyes, have taeyong winces and ducking his head to avoid the searing pain.

a door slides open, its creak echoing across the walls and through the warehouse. taeyong pauses, biting on his lip, listening. whoever it is, their footsteps are gentle, nearly inaudible. taeyong’s mouth is dry, but he swallows nonetheless.

torture is one thing he can’t do. either inflict it or receive it. mark is the hardest to crack, having been trained in keeping his mouth shut since birth. and taeyong doesn’t break, could never betray them like that. he just. doesn’t recover well. 

there had been an incident about a month back where taeyong had been taken for two nights. it was nothing serious. some ragtag low tier street gang looking for clout that threw him around a bit. but every second had been a decade. every moment had been an eternity. taeyong doesn’t consider himself impatient, but he spend every waking moment in that warehouse counting the seconds until someone came for him. 

there’s the anxiety flaring in his gut again and taeyong forces it to settle. the footsteps draw closer and closer, too evenly spaced out. it sounds like they’re walking to a rhythm, a pattern, a metronome, and taeyong focuses on that beat and forces his pulse to slow. 

the foot steps stop. taeyong exhales. “i don’t speak english.” he says in english. he does, actually, but he thickens the accent anyways, hoping to at least gain a bit of an upper hand like this.

his plan falls through, when the person says, in fluent korean, “that’s not necessary.” they stays out of the light, in the shadows. “i just have a couple of questions for you, mr. lee.”

taeyong sighs, settles in his bonds. “shoot.” he says drily. he’ll answer, he’s not good at taking pain but he’s learned how to lie through a smile. 

the shadow pauses. taeyong watches their shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. “what is your aim?”

taeyong blinks. “huh?” he says, intelligently.

“with your little… gang. what do you hope to do? what are you trying to accomplish?”

“um.” taeyong swallows. fuck, what _is_ he trying to do? where was he trying to go with this? what the fuck?

a door to the back slams open. taeyong, so wrapped up in his thoughts, barely even flinches. “OI.” a voice shouts. deep, thick, angry. “JUNGWOO, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING.”

jungwoo. taeyong knows that name, fuck, he’s all too familiar with that name. jungwoo’s one of the reasons they’re out there, a promise made by yukhei worded all too attractively for them to ignore.

the shadow turns around. “ah, xuxi.” he says mildly. “i was just getting to know taeyong-hyung a little better.”

“by interrogating him?” yukhei snaps. taeyong doesn’t think he’s ever heard yukhei sound this pissed in his entire life. “you’re gonna be working with him from here on out, the last thing you need is to turn him against you!”

“i wasn’t trying to.” jungwoo shoots back, but he cuts the bonds from taeyong’s arms. now closer, taeyong can see him. full lips, soft eyes, relentlessly pretty but not deceptively gentle. had he not tied taeyong up before meeting him, taeyong would’ve looked at jungwoo and thought of him as a man that he could trust. 

“no… it’s okay.” taeyong says, because honestly, it kinda is. it’s not the _worst_ first meeting he’s ever had with someone, and it’s kinda smart in retrospect. “he was just sizing me up.”

yukhei stares at him. “you’re fuckin’ weird.” says wong yukhei, irony in its purest form. “well, either way, your partners are waiting outside, they’re a little pissed but eh, if you’re fine then i’m fine.” he turns around, walks three steps before pausing to quickly add, “you’ll get to see jungwoo’s real work later today.”

taeyong plasters on a smile. he _really_ does not like torture. “i’m looking forward to it.” he says.

jungwoo blinks slowly at him. “no you’re not.” he says simply, and taeyong feels like a freshly opened wound.

_what are you trying to do?_ he asks himself. he blinks, shakes himself out of it, follows jungwoo and yukhei out the door and into the morning sun.

the question clings to his shadow, and sticks to the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yuta and hyuck next! i still love this fic so im working to finish it as best i can hhh

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/maplemarkle) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/kyunset)


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